Harvest Moon
by Dragovian Knight
Summary: Heralds of Valdemar. A young Bardic trainee is tries to get the attention of a Herald trainee. OMCxOMC fluff.


The rust-garbed apprentice hurried along the path leading to Companion's Field as the sun dropped rapidly toward the western horizon, afraid he'd be too late. Not that he couldn't play perfectly well in the dark, but if he missed the reason he was going there _again..._

The thought just didn't bear thinking about.

He broke into a jog, panting a little, his gittern case slapping against his back with each stride. Sunset-gilded white forms began to approach the fence; Companions anticipating his almost-daily evening performance. Jarrod grinned. He certainly couldn't complain about lacking an appreciative audience, at least. Even if they weren't precisely the audience whose attention he was trying to get.

Finally, he reached the fence and climbed it, mindful of his instrument. Perched on the top bar, he spent a few moments rubbing noses and scratching necks, having realized that the Companions who hadn't yet Chosen - and even a few of those who had - enjoyed the extra attention as much as they enjoyed the music.

_And who would have thought I'd end up serenading a bunch of magic horses,_ he thought, craning his neck to see past the crowding necks, his gaze scanning the Field. _Please, please, let him be here..._

_Yes!_

His quarry spotted, the young Bardic-Trainee climbed down from the fence, his boots crunching through the drying grass. Companions fell in beside and behind him, leaving him free to choose where he would settle to play.

Trying not to be obvious, Jarrod made his way toward a particularly tall, proud-necked stallion, one of the few who hadn't come to cluster around him. The Companion was a magnificent example of his kind, powerfully muscled, burnished a brilliant gold by the last few moments of daylight...and Jarrod was completely blind to everything but the stallion's Chosen.

He had noticed the Herald-Trainee within days of his arrival at the Collegium. Tall, broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, more handsome than Jarrod could remember seeing in his almost-fifteen years, with eyes as blue as his Companion's and golden hair which had, over the summer, bleached almost Companion-white. One look was all it took; Jarrod's heart had done a funny little flip-flop, and he had immediately set about learning the other young man's habits.

Within a week, he had learned that the Trainee - one Michael Abrion - was in the habit of ending his day with his Companion out in the Field. Within two, he had arranged his schedule so he could spend his own evenings practicing alone...and there were certainly _worse_ places to play than Companion's Field on a warm summer evening.

Of course, this plan had been conceived in late spring. He'd spent the past half-year hurrying out to the Field, playing to the appreciative audience of Companions, catching glimpses of his quarry but not catching his _attention._ As the days shortened with approaching winter, his plan of patiently stalking the Herald was looking less promising. Particularly since, in spite of everything he'd managed to learn about Michael, he still didn't know whether he was _shaych_.

Now, Jarrod settled onto the grass, absently noting that it had gone prickly with the season and he really needed to start bringing out something to sit on, and pulled his gittern case into his lap. The Companions accompanying him settled in to listen; some dropped their heads to graze, others merely stood with their ears pricked forward, still others folded themselves gracefully to the ground. One of them lay down behind him, providing a backrest of sorts; he tore his eyes off Michael long enough to smile at the delicate mare responsible. She bowed her head, looking at him through the silken tumble of her forelock, and he had the distinct impression she smiled back.

He had chosen his position so the setting sun was behind him, and Michael in front, so he could watch the Trainee without being _too_ obvious. Michael, for his part, seemed rather oblivious, although he had to have noticed such a large gathering of Companions not a hundred yards away; he leaned lazily against his Companion's shoulder, one arm across the stallion's withers - Jarrod all but purred at the realization Michael was _that_ tall - his lips moving in quiet conversation.

_He looks like a young god,_ Jarrod thought, his fingers caressing the strings of his gittern, testing that it had stayed tuned; the old instrument tended to slip over the tiniest thing, but his grandfather had taught him on it, and damned if he'd give it up. For once, the trip to the Field hadn't jarred the strings loose, and without conscious thought Jarrod began playing the opening notes of "Sun and Shadow".

It was an effort not to pour his own longing out through his Gift; he distracted himself by noting the irony of launching into the song just as a fat, orange harvest moon slid over the horizon, perfectly mirroring the now-vanished sun. _At least my golden-haired beauty doesn't go into a coma at sunset,_ he thought wryly. _I can think of much better things to do at night. Of course, with my luck he doesn't even like __**music**__, much less men. _

Michael chose that moment to laugh, presumably at something his Companion said, and Jarrod again felt his heart flip-flop, just as it had the first time he'd seen the Herald-Trainee. _Gods, he doesn't __**have **__to. I'll be happy if he'll just let me __**look**__ at him. Wish I could paint, or sculpt...but with him as my model, I doubt I'd get much work done._

He sighed - mentally, since he was still in mid-song - reminding himself to be grateful that he'd caught Michael at all. It was, after all, near enough to Sovven that there were dances and parties aplenty going on in Haven, and Herald-Trainees were hardly bound to the Collegium grounds.

The song ended, and he attempted to sidetrack himself by launching into a sprightly dance tune that had more than a few equine heads and hooves moving along with it. The music even caught the attention of Michael and his Companion; through half-closed eyes, Jarrod watched them watch him.

_Huh. Maybe he just doesn't like my singing._

They continued to look his direction while he finished that tune and moved immediately into another. Jarrod thought he saw the Herald-Trainee's expression take on a certain intensity, but now that he'd finally gotten Michael's attention he couldn't exactly watch him the way he had been.

_See, there are drawbacks to getting what you want,_ he thought, keeping his eyes on the tips of his boots, only sneaking occasional glances to make sure Michael was still looking at him.

The attention was also making him a bit fumble-fingered; the next piece he chose was simpler, one of the first he'd learned at his grandfather's knee, and something he could have played in his sleep. Fortunately, because Michael and his Companion were slowly drawing closer, and if he hadn't known the tune down to his bones he likely would have forgotten how to play completely.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pair was close enough that he didn't need to pretend he hadn't noticed them, and he looked up with a smile and nod. Michael smiled back, an easy, relaxed smile that seemed to suck all the air out of the Field.

_Oh, gods..._

"You're good," Michael said, when the last notes of the dance tune had died away. His voice was soft and rich, like sun-warmed honey. "Janse and I...well, we just wanted to tell you how much we enjoy it. You coming out to the Field and playing, I mean."

Jarrod just stared at him, unable to even think, utterly mesmerized by his voice and sheer _nearness_.

After a moment, the Herald-Trainee shrugged, turning away, walking toward the fence with a graceful, powerful stride that was just as mesmerizing as his voice. Walking _away..._

_Demons take it! Idiot! __**Idiot!**__ He was right here! What happened to everything you were going to say to dazzle him, eh? You're supposed to be a __**Bard!**__ Idiot!_ Jarrod would have pounded his head against a wall if one had been handy. Months, _months_, he'd dreamed of that moment...and blown it! _Idiot!_

He started to call after Michael, produced a hoarse croak instead, and scrambled to his feet, his precious gittern hanging all-but-forgotten from one hand. The Companion who had been providing a backrest for him lunged to her feet, as well, seemingly startled. He babbled a distracted apology, barely glancing at her.

But, as soon as he did, he found himself falling into one of her liquid sapphire eyes.

_:I Choose thee, Jarrod Torrinson. I am Rika, and from this moment forth, we shall never be apart,:_ a woman's voice said into his mind, and he was utterly lost in that ocean of blue.

And, by the time he managed to pull himself out, Herald-Trainee Michael Abrion was well and truly gone.

***

_:It wasn't __**such**__ a bad night, though, was it, Chosen?: _Rika asked lightly, nudging him with her nose.

Herald-Trainee Jarrod Torrinson smiled at his Companion, then turned his attention back to fiddling with his old gittern. "Not _so_ bad," he agreed. "Although my old uniforms suited me better than this dull grey."

Rika snorted. _:Your old uniform clashed with that red hair of yours,:_ she retorted. _:And Scarlets would have been __**worse**__.:_

That won a laugh from him, and he decided the gittern was as tuned as it was going to get. Leaning back against Rika's warm shoulder, he watched as the round, rich harvest moon slid itself over the eastern horizon. "If you say so, Rika-love."

She nuzzled him again, then her head raised, her ears pricking forward. Jarrod followed her gaze, and saw the unmistakable shape of Janse trotting in their direction.

_:If you'll excuse me...:_

Jarrod chuckled and slid forward so she could rise more easily. She positively _pranced_ toward Janse, neck arched and tail flagged, and within heartbeats the two were involved in an equine courting dance.

_As if there's any doubt how those two will end up,_ Jarrod thought, watching them with a smirk. _She's just as smitten with Janse as I am with his Chosen. Speaking of..._

He turned his gaze away from the Companions to search the Field. Yes, there. In the moonlight, Michael's sun-bleached hair was a spun silver halo, and his grey Trainee uniform was leached to near white. Jarrod's breath caught as he watched the young moon god stride toward him. _Ye gods, when he's a full Herald how am I going to keep my hands off him?_

_:Who says you'll have to?: _Michael's honey-rich voice asked in his head.

Jarrod planted one hand on his hip, the other being occupied with his gittern. _:Eavesdropping again?:_ he asked with mock annoyance.

_:I can't help it. You think loud,:_ Michael replied. He drew near enough to take the gittern from Jarrod with his left hand, and wrapped his right arm around the shorter Trainee's waist, drawing him near. _:If you don't want me to hear, you have to shield better.:_

Jarrod melted into his lifebonded's warmth. _:Well, I suppose if you keep issuing invitations for me to put my hands all over you, I won't complain that you eavesdrop.:_

_:And if I bring you presents?: _Michael teased, producing a small, beautifully decorated box.

Jarrod grinned wickedly. _:You'll get more than just hands, love.:_

Michael laughed, and their lips met. _:Happy anniversary, Jare.:_

_:Happy anniversary,:_ Jarrod echoed, marveling that they really had been together a year. _And there'd damned well better be many more._

_:There will be,: _Michael answered the unSent thought. _:There will be.:_


End file.
